In Which Peter and Remus Unwittingly Play Cupid
by CassandraHolly
Summary: Remus knows that James loves Sirius, but James can't see it, because he's stubborn. Peter knows that Sirius loves James, but Sirius can't see anything, because he's dizzy. Not with love for James, but with concussion, which James gave him. Funny, how these things happen.


"You know what the problem with Lily is?" Sirius doesn't wait for Peter to answer, mainly because he knows Peter _isn't_ going to answer. "She's so fucking cocky, you know? Says James is bad, and then there's her, so- so _sure _that he's wrapped round her little finger. And she doesn't care. She only cares that he's got his eyes on her."

"That's not strictly true," Peter murmurs, as if Sirius is going to listen.

Sirius won't listen.

The only person Sirius listens to is James, and James is currently AWOL with the subject of this very conversation. Funny, how things happen in such a way that makes life almost physically painful for everybody living it; Peter just wants some peace and quiet.

* * *

"Heard you were slagging off my girlfriend."

James never was one for beating around the bush. Contrary to this, he was always one for beating around everything else, and Sirius isn't surprised when he finds James' hand in his collar and an angry face in his own.

"She's not your girlfriend." Sirius' voice is strangled. That could be a result of the lack of oxygen passing through his windpipe, or it could be how strong James' musky scent is.

James twists his hand tighter in Sirius' collar. "Yeah, she is!"

"No, she's fucking not. She doesn't give a damn about you, Prongs, open your bloody eyes-"

James twists his hand again and launches his other fist into Sirius' nose at the same time. The end product is Sirius, silent, bleeding and blinking, on the floor at his feet. James swallows and stumbles back, the dull _thud _of Sirius' head cracking against the wall echoing in his ears.

"Let me have this," He says, and his voice is almost as broken as his friend's. "Please, just- just let me have her." He leaves. Sirius doesn't have a clue what he means.

* * *

"You know what the problem with Sirius is?" Remus closes his book and looks up. James doesn't wait for his answer; they both know he wouldn't have replied anyway. "He's so fucking arrogant. He has to be right about _everything_, you know? He can't let me have Evans, because he didn't see it coming, and he always has to know _everything_. Why does he always have to be involved? Why?"

Remus bites down the urge to give the obvious answer- 'because, James, you want him to'- and goes back to his book.  
"I have no idea," He murmurs, as if James is even listening.

James isn't listening.

The only person James will listen to is Sirius, who is currently AWOL, because of James, ironically enough. Funny, how things happen in a way that make life almost physically painful for everybody living it; Remus just wants some peace and quiet.

* * *

"I would say that I'm sorry I punched you," James says loudly as he stands over Sirius' bed, "But you deserved it."

"I would say that I'm sorry I said what I said," Sirius retorts, sitting up, "But it's true. Also, you deserve it."

James is pretty sure his jaw hits dirt. "What do you mean, _I deserved _it?" He splutters. "And why the fuck are you in the Hospital Wing?"

"Hey, it's karma, yeah? You treat someone like shit, you get treated like shit. Guess she really was fate, huh?" Sirius narrows his eyes. "And I'm in here because I have concussion, dickhead."

"Who the fuck did I treat like shit? I'm a fucking saint!" James is going red. He does that when he's angry, and it gives off quite the opposite effect of what he would like to look like angry. Tomatoes are not very threatening. "Con- Wait. Concussion? How?"

Sirius averts his gaze, and blushes slightly. "Fell over."

"Bullshit."

"Fine. _You _gave me concussion, dickhead."

James steps back and closes his mouth. "Did not." He waits for Sirius' inevitable response- 'Did too,'- but it never comes; Sirius lies down and turns away. "Sod off, James. Don't you have places to be? Gingers to fuck, mates to fuck up?"

James walks away. Sirius didn't actually expect him too, and it really hurts.

* * *

Peter sits next to Sirius' bed, sends Madam Pomfrey a smile, and turns his attention to Sirius. He's waiting for a rant, but it never comes. This is strange; Peter is entirely used to being handed the job of nodding, shaking his head, laughing, and- when the situation calls for it- murmuring things such as 'Jesus Christ', 'Holy crap', 'Nice one', and 'What a dick'. But Sirius isn't even looking at him. He's pretending to be asleep. Peter is quite sure he's not sleeping, because Sirius snuffles and paws the blankets when he's asleep, and right now he resembles a plank of wood playing dead.

"I know you're not asleep."

Sirius cracks open an eye, scowls at Peter, and sits up. "I thought you were- whatever. What're you doing here?"

"Got homework and stuff from the kitchen." Peter doesn't miss the slip, but he ignores it. He also doesn't take offence at Sirius' stony attitude; he's used to it. Sirius can be a bit of an arsehole, really. "Why are you still in here? It's been, what, three days?"

Sirius opens his mouth and closes it. He looks around, then back at his knees. "Don't tell anyone," He mumbles. Peter nods. He's a very good secret keeper.

Or so he likes to think.

"He hit- I hit my head kinda hard, really. She's worried. It keeps bleeding, like. And, um, I can't... well, I can't really _see _very well. Or hear. Or taste. Haha."

Peter blinks and stares at the bandage wrapped around Sirius' head. "Wondered what that was for."

"Yeah, S'bit over the top really. I'm fine."

"Okay." Peter is still waiting for Sirius to go off on a royal one about James, but it isn't coming, and this is very strange indeed. "Well, I'm going to go now."

"Right."

As Peter walks away, Sirius lays back down and imagines James' reaction to his condition. He would freak out a bit, probably. Feel really bad, and then call him some names affectionately. They'd play exploding snap, or plot a prank- something James could use as an excuse to look after Sirius without feeling like a ponce.

* * *

Remus sits down at his favorite table, sends Madam Pince a smile, and turns to James. He's expecting James to start spouting off, but James remains silent. This is strange. Even stranger is where they're actually sat.

James has a book in front of him, and he's pretending to read. James likes to think he's a good actor; Remus knows full well that when James actually reads, he sprawls all over the place and cocks his head slightly to the left. Right now, James bears an uncanny resemblance to himself when faced with silver cutlery.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing in the library?"

James takes his time turning to Remus, but he gets there. "Absailing. Wha's it fucking look like?"

"Looks like you're avoiding something." Remus delicately turns to his book, opens to his bookmarked page, leans back, and waits.

James frowns. He shuffles around, shoots a charm at a nearby stack of books, and watches as they begin to flap away. "Why's he still in the Hospital Wing?"

Remus puts his finger on the sentence he's currently reading and turns back to James. "Pomfrey's worried about him. His head seems to be getting worse."

James swallows and slams his book closed, then reopens it. "I should go see him."

"It's up to you, really, isn't it?" Remus pulls his bag up, tucks his book under his arm, and wanders away.

James places his head on his book and imagines the advice Sirius would have given him. 'Don't be a dick,' Sirius would say. 'He's your best mate, why're you sat down here lamenting over your messed up love life?' Ha.

Wait. Love life?

Where the heck did _that _come from?

* * *

"I swear to God, as much as I respect your talents in the medical field, if you try to force that crap down my throat I will genuinely slay you."  
Sirius doesn't expect the snort of laughter (Pomfrey is, by this point, more than a bit sick of his unusual fear of anything medicinal). He glances around to see James, arms folded, leaning against the door. Pomfrey senses his hesitation and lunges, with all the might and finesse of a black- belt ninja, to jam the spoon of liquid into Sirius' slack mouth. Sirius gags, coughs, and kicks simultaneously.

By the time he's caught his breath, James is hovering over him, glass of water in hand. "Want some?"

Sirius weighs him up, then shakes his head and pulls himself up to the headboard. The burning in his throat isn't worth accepting something off of that asshat. James sits down on the foot of the bed.

The silence lasts for an amazing amount of time- twenty seconds. Twenty seconds is a long time. Sirius is amazed.

"What did I do?" James can't stop looking at the bandage wrapped around Sirius' forehead. Black hair sticks out over and under it, and, in some places, through it. The situation must be dire if Sirius isn't trying to tame his hair. James looks closer. Sirius' lips are chapped, his pyjamas are slightly baggy, and there are family-sized suitcases under his eyes. "It's been, like, a week. And a bit. And you're still in here."

Sirius just glares at him. James gets the impression that he's trying to look haughty, but his pyjamas are baby blue, so the effect is lost somewhere in the two foot gap between them.

Pomfrey has walked away, so James pulls Sirius' chart out from behind him. Sirius' eyes go wide. He lunges forward, but James shoves a hand in his chest; Sirius falls onto his back and James scans the chart.

"Jesus."

Sirius stares up at him, eyes narrowed.

"I... I broke your head."

"No," Sirius mumbled, "S'just bleeding."

"But you're all _wrong_. You're dizzy? You're _never _dizzy. You just make everybody _else _dizzy."

"Not for a while!" Sirius sits up and makes another grab for the chart, but James holds it away and keeps reading. "Nausea?"

"It's the technical term for chundering."

"I know that, jackass. But you can't hear? Why? And taste. And _smell_? Holy crap, I _broke _you!"

Sirius sniffs and folds his arms. "Did not." He waits for James' inevitable answer- 'Did too'- but James just leans over and feels the bandage on his head. "Get the fuck off me!"

"No. Stay still."

"Don't _touch _me!" Still, he isn't really putting up a fight. Sirius falls silent and curls in on himself as James uses both hands to unwrap the bandage. "Taking your time," Sirius mutters. "What do you think you're gonna find under there? Another face?"

"Shut up." James positions himself so that he's sat behind Sirius, legs on either side of Sirius' own. There's another silence, and then:

"Well, that's not _that _bad."

"That's what I said!"

"Bit bloody. Does it hurt?" Sirius feels the sensation of a large needle being shoved through his skull and yelps. James freezes. "Shit. Sorry, man."

"Fuckin' should be. You _did _it, and now I've missed loads of classes. I'm behind in everything! Father's going to kill me dead, you know that? And quidditch, I'm probably gonna miss the tryouts. Plus I won't be out in time for full moon, and you can't keep him happy by yourself, and Peter's useless. Speaking of whom, he keeps bringing me all these stupid cakes which I can't fucking eat because I throw them up. I mean, I can't even taste them! And my head really hurts, my whole _entire _head. It's pounding. And it's all _your fault_. Everything."

James listens in silence, staring at the hunched shoulders in front of him.

"You're mad, then."

Sirius sniffs.

"Well, somethings are your fault, too." James coughs. "Broke up with Evans." He can literally see every muscle in Sirius' body tense. "That's entirely _your _fault." James lifts his hands and places them on Sirius' shoulders (when did he get so delicate? Sirius always was smaller, but James can easily grasp Sirius' upper arm on one hand). He starts digging his palms and fingers into the bony shoulders, and smirks as Sirius subconsciously leans into him. Up, down, sideways- there it is, a huge knot on his lower back; James kneads it carefully, listening to Sirius' quiet breathing. The dark head has dropped down. James moves one hand to Sirius' chin and pulls his head up, so that it rests on his own shoulder.

"I would be angry at you," he whispers as he pulls his other hand around to wrap around Sirius' stomach. "But I think I'm still indebted. I may have nearly killed you, after all."

Sirius swallows. "You're such a prick." But he doesn't move. He is limp in James' arms.

"Well, you're a dickwad."

"No, you are. And you're a tosser. You ruined my skull."

"Did not."

"Did too."


End file.
